New York Institute of Drama and the Arts
by FlairforDrama
Summary: [cowritten with Elladan] In which there are six paint splattered Newsies, three romantically uninvolved teenage girls [who stay that way] and one bottle of pear champagne. [UPDATED!]
1. Arrivals

**Authors: **Showbiz and Red (equals co written with Elladan from _Elladan and Elrohir._)

**Disclaimer: **We only own Sophie and Amy and the New York Institute of Drama and the Arts. All the HOT newsies belong to Disney. Damn.

**Summary:** In which there are six paint-splattered Newsies, three romantically un-involved teenage girls who stay that way and one bottle of pear champagne.

**Genre: **Humor/General. How bland. No, just kidding.

**Rating:** T, for fun teenage language.

**New York Institute of Drama and the Arts**

"ARRIVALS"

It was raining. Not unusual for September in New York, especially because it wasn't raining very hard. A taxi pulled up outside the wrought iron gates of the New York Institute of Drama and the Arts, and two girls stumbled out. They were both in their teens, one about a year older than the other. The older girl paid the driver, pulled her heavy backpack higher on her shoulders and brushed her copper curls out of her face.

"Got your camera, Amy?" she asked, turning to the younger girl.

"No, I left it on the plane. C'mon, what do you think?"

The older girl sighed, and took her friend's comment to be a confirmation. "Good." The girls stood in silence for a while, facing the gate, each with a rather rain-soaked acceptance letter clutched in one hand.

Amy turned to her friend, shaking her head so that her short blonde hair was no longer in her eyes. "Sophs, remind me _what _we are doing in Middle-Of-Fuckin'-Nowhere, New York with nothing but each other's company?"

Sophie smiled. "Going to a prestigious art school, remember?"

* * *

"MUSH!" 

Matthew Myers turned on the doorstep of the largest dorm to see his best friend running full throttle toward him, an old backpack slung over one shoulder.

"Kid!" Mush cheered, deftly diving to one side so he wouldn't be trampled, but could still steal a hug. "It's good to see you! How was your summer?"

"Great! Though I had to work my ass off to get enough money to come back this year."

Mush looked his friend over . Ryan "Kid Blink" Ballatt hadn't changed much in the three months that Mush hadn't seen him. He was maybe an inch taller, the cuffs of his old jeans just barely brushing the tops of his tennis shoes. He's let his hair grow out a bit too, so that it hung in his eye. Other than that, it was the same old Blink Mush remembered from the end of sophomore year, still wearing tee shirts that said things like "I eat glue."

"It's not fair, y'know," Blink continued, "I have to work three jobs so I can come back here, stay in a shitty dorm with a million other people, and spend classes slowly mutilating myself with a chisel. While you, _you_," Blink went on, poking his friend in the chest dramatically, "get a full scholarship because Mrs. Larkson thinks you're the best thing that has happened since sliced bread." Blink leaned forward. "Are you sure you're not _bribing_ her in any way?" He asked, raising his eyebrows to emphasize the innuendo.

"Aw, shut up, you sound just like Race," Mush said, a grin spreading across his face. "Come on, Jack and David have already claimed the fold-out, so we'd better get inside if we want the loft again."

* * *

It was, by far, the weirdest dormitory that Sophia Archer had ever been in. Of course, the closest thing to a dorm that either Sophie or her friend Amelia Knightley had ever stayed in was a youth hostel, and even by hostel standards the dorm was weird. If anything, it was more like a small house. 

The first thing Sophie noticed was a plaque beside the door read "Frieda Kahlo Dormitory." She made a quick mental note of this; after all, it's rather helpful to know where one is going to be living for the next nine months. Just inside the door was an incredibly small room which contained a rack for coats and a small shelf for shoes. Two doors branched off from this, one leading into a small kitchenette and the other into the bedroom. The two girls headed through the second door.

"This is so AWESOME!" Sophie exclaimed, flopping down on the lone couch and looking about.

The bedroom, though small, was home to at least seven beds, a couch, a desk (which held, to the girl's delight, a small boom box), and an overstuffed purple armchair. Two of the seven beds rested on a loft in the corner of the room. Two more--bunk beds--were underneath with the chair. There was a window seat-turned-bed on the far side of the room, and a simple twin set against the wall near another door. On the near side of the room was a bed that folded out from the wall so that it formed a ledge about half way down. Sophie figured the couch folded out as well.

"Kinda crowded isn't it?" Amy asked, poking her head around the doorframe on the side of the room by the twin bed. She gestured over her shoulder with her thumb. "There's only one toilet and one shower."

"So?" Sophie shrugged. "If no one else is staying here, then it's just you, me and Charlotte."

"Why would it be just us? This is a _dorm_, not a private cabin." Amy never hesitated to state _her_ opinion.

"God could be so kind," Sophie said in mock solemnity, a hand over her heart.

Amy rolled her eyes. "Well, in any case, I claim the loft."

"WINDOW SEAT IS MINE!" Sophie yelled, flinging her backpack across the room where it landed quite a few feet short of her new bed.

Amy followed suit, tossing her purple messenger bag onto the top bunk bed. Then, more carefully, Amy put her camera on the desk and gazed around her new room.

* * *

At 5:37, Anthony Higgins pushed open the door of the Van Gogh Dorm, and a very familiar sight met his eyes. First, the room was a mess. Half-unpacked suitcases were strewn across almost every bed, indicating that the residents of the Van Gogh Dormitory would have a few new recruits this year. Spread out around the room were four boys, laughing and generally being insane. There was no sign of the new boys; David was in the corner studying (as per usual), Jack was lounging on the sofa, telling a rather narcissistic story to no one in particular (as per usual), and Blink and Mush were hanging off the loft, having a "who-can-stay-upside-down-the-longest" contest (as per usual). Blink's jaw was clenched and his face scarlet, and Mush was turning a lovely shade of purple. The room was completely devoid of Skittery's twitchy and sullen presence (as per usual.) 

"RACETRACK!" Blink attempted to pull himself up onto the loft, had too much blood rush out of his head at one time, and promptly fell off onto the floor with a loud thud and a string of creative curses. His actions, of course, were met with gales of laughter from the other boys. Mush, more careful and in better shape than Blink, arrived successfully on the loft. He looked concerned, but upon finding that Blink would live, joined in with the laughter.

"You just missed orientation," said David, not looking up from his book.

"Alas!" cried Race, flinging a hand to his brow, "My life is over!" David grumbled something unintelligible.

"No sane, intelligent person goes to orientation except you, love," teased Jack, and he flung his lucky red bandana at his boyfriend's head. Bandanas, however, are not very aerodynamic, and it landed halfway across the room at Race's feet. Racetrack took this opportunity to speak up--again.

"Soooo… You guys'll never guess what I did over the summer." The boys perked up at that. It was one of their many traditions to guess about Race's escapades. He was the craziest of the five of them, and always had some wild tale to tell.

"You got married."

"You knocked up your girlfriend."

"You knocked up your girlfriend, then got married."

"You got kicked out of your house."

"You made millions of dollars selling your photographs on the internet."

"You made millions of dollars selling your homemade porn on the internet."

"BLINK!"

* * *

_Whack._

"What!"

"Oh, it's not _that_ bad…" _Whack. _"I'm sure you'll survive the first week."

_Whack._

"Some friends you are."

"Well, what were we supposed to do?"

_Whack._

"How about somehow making it so that the only bed left for me _isn't _under the bed of a homicidal--" _Whack. _"_--_not to mention homophobic--" _Whack. "--_asshole who could very possibly murder me in my sleep?"

Mush couldn't help but laugh as he watched the tennis ball bounce back and forth across the court, the noise of the racquets punctuating their conversation. (Mush was sitting this round out, seeing as Jack and David had other plans, and the boys couldn't very well play tennis with three people). Racetrack was fuming, due to his limited choice of sleeping space, and Blink was bickering cheerfully right back, the actual game in the very back of their minds. Blink was on the verge of outright laughter, because Racetrack wasn't paying attention and kept getting hit with the ball.

_Whack._

"Well, it wouldn't be fair to make Skittery sleep under him again, he's twitchy enough as it is."

_Whack._

"What happens if _I_ end up as twitchy as Skitts?."

_"_Aw, don't be such a martyr." _Whack. _"It'd be hysterical."

"I could hurt you."

"Come on, you guys," implored Mush, interrupting. "Race, you were last to school, it's just the _luck_ of the draw, not anyone's fault. Blink, you don't have to tease him."

"I know." _Whack._ "It was just funny."

"Fuck you too," said Race cheerfully. "I'm going to bed."

Mush grinned too, because not matter what happened, the three of them always stuck together. Silly, sarcastic Racetrack; laid-back Blink and sweet, good-natured Mush. They were the Three Musketeers, and this year wouldn't be any different.

* * *

There was a knock at the door.

"I'll get it!" Amy screamed, launching herself across the room. She skidded to a halt, and flung the door open. "CHARLOTTE!"

Sophie looked up from where she was unpacking. Her older sister entered the room, smiling and holding three rather large envelopes. Charlotte had volunteered to go to orientation and get the other two girls' schedules for them. She tossed two of the envelopes onto Sophie's bed.

"Your schedules and a brief on the orientation are in there," she said, striding over to the bunk bed, and tossing her bag onto the bottom bunk. "This dorm is all ours. The other girls can afford private rooms, which are down a path off the back door." Sophie and Amy smiled at each other. _The dorm was all theirs_. Charlotte sighed, and flopped down on the couch, smiling slightly.

"What's up, Char? You get lucky at orientation or something?" Sophie suggested.

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "No. For you information, I just met a really nice guy who is in my painting class. He's staying in the boy's dorm across the way, so he walked me back from the assembly--" Amy snickered. Charlotte glared and went on, "--and introduced me to his boyfriend. Jack. "

"Ah." Pause. "I see. What's his name?" Sophie asked.

"David Jacobs. He's in 12th grade, my year. Awfully nice."

"I'm sure he's nice as all get out, but was there anyone halfway decent in my woodcarving class?" Sophie questioned. "I don't particularly fancy the idea of being stuck in a room with tons of potential weapons and a bunch of lunatics."

"What about photography? Any nice boys there?" Amy asked fervently.

Charlotte held up a hand, laughing, "I'm sure out of all the boys here, at least a few of them will be acceptable!"

"Well," Sophie said, feigning seriousness, "One can only hope."

* * *

Spot Conlon was a force to be reckoned with. It was a well-known fact. No one remained near him for an extended period of time unless absolutely necessary. He was involved in fist fights weekly, spent nearly all of his afternoons in detention, and had the best death glare this side of Brooklyn. _Professional badass._ The words were banging around Racetrack Higgins head, practically screaming at him to turn and run. To turn and run _very fast._

The notorious Sean Conlon, nicknamed "Spot" in the previous year, was lounging on his bed in the Van Gogh Dorm. He had claimed the top bunk, again, and no one had objected, seeing as they had all preferred to live. But, the truth remained that the dorm was crowded, and Race _had_ been the last to arrive. Race groaned inwardly; Spot Conlon was definitely not Race's ideal sleeping neighbor.

Remember the part about the Three Musketeers? Well, that notion had completely flown out of the window the second Race entered the dorm, and was forcefully reminded of his friends' utter betrayal. Sadly, there was no one to back him up in case things went unexpectedly South. (After all, attempting to go to sleep on the lower bunk beneath a regular schoolyard criminal was a dangerous business.) Blink and Mush were still at the courts, and Jack and David were taking advantage of the empty grounds by taking a romantic stroll. Probably lounging by the fountain in the center of the campus, savoring the moments before the other snobbish art students arrived and booted the boys out of "their" spot. So that left Racetrack all by his lonesome. Well, almost.

The only people in the room besides Spot weren't exactly going to be helpful in this kind of situation. Skittery was asleep--Race knew better than to wake him--and he could barely make out the two other occupants of the room behind the piles of tastefully-tight shirts and fitted-in-all-the-right-places jeans that were piled on the window seat. Their owners were hidden behind the large mass of clothing, no doubt snogging. The afore mentioned articles of clothing belonged to Mark Carson and Ian Schylar, the couple who had snagged the position asresident flamers in a disturbingly short amount of time.

Race made a face at the mountain of cotton and denim and slowly approached his new bunk-mate. Spot, unperturbed by the glares he was receiving from the short Italian, continued to flip through the copy of _Mad Magazine_ that he had snitched off of Blink's bed. Racetrack glanced again at the teenage trouble magnet relaxing on the bed above his own. When Spot continued to ignore him, Race dropped his bag, climbed into bed and pulled the covers over his head.

* * *

**A/N:**

**R: **Sorry 'Biz, just _had_ to insert random _Firefly _lines. Gotta fit in my latest obsession!

**SB: **More story coming soon!

**R: **Oh, just FYI, the characters ages, grades and years are as follows: **Sophie:** 16, 10th, 1st; **Amy:** 14, 9th, 1st; **Blink:** 16, 11th, 3rd; **Mush: **16, 11th, 3rd; **Race: **17, 11th, 3rd; **Spot: **17, 11th, 2nd; **Jack: **18, 12th, 4th; **David: **17, 12th, 4th; **Charlotte:** 18, 12th, 1st; **Ian:** 16, 11th, 1st; **Mark: **17, 12th, 1st.

**SB: **YAY!


	2. One Short Day

-1**Authors: **Showbiz and Red (equals co written with Elladan from _Elladan and Elrohir._)

**Disclaimer: **We only own Sophie and Amy and the New York Institute of Drama and the Arts. All the HOT newsies belong to Disney. Damn.

**Summary:** In which there are six paint-splattered Newsies, three romantically un-involved teenage girls who stay that way and one bottle of pear champagne.

**Genre: **Humor/General. How bland. No, just kidding.

**Rating:** T, for fun teenage language.

**New York Institute of Drama and the Arts**

"ONE SHORT DAY"

September 5th dawned rather unpleasantly – with gray skies and drizzle. It was just barely light out at 6:30 am, when Amy's singing sailor penguin alarm clock rang out through the room.

"_Doodle-oo doo doo, doodle-oo doo doo, doodle-oo-doo-doo-doo doodle-oodle-oo. Doodle-oo doo doo, doodle-oo doo doo, DOO DOO!" _Pause. "Wake up! Wake up!"

"Shut up, shut up!" Sophie mimicked from under her pillow.

Amy's hand shot out, smashing down on the unfortunate penguin's cute little head. The hit effectively silenced the singing.

"Good morning!" It chirped from the bedside table.

Sophie groaned, emerging from her bed. "Why, Amy, _why_ the singing penguin?"

"It's CUUUUUUUUUUUTE!"

"No, it's scary."

"Cute!"

"Scary."

"Cute!"

"Scary."

"I'm hungry."

After about ten minutes of attempting to change clothes without losing any body heat, the two teens migrated to the kitchenette for a breakfast of cold pop tarts and tea.

"Where's Charlotte?" asked Amy, looking up from her brown sugar and cinnamon breakfast confection.

"Dunno, but she left a note," replied Sophie, from inside her mug of tea.

The note was simple. It read:

_Got up early. Don't eat the pop tarts. _

_- Char_

Amy giggled guiltily, brushing some crumbs off the small table. Sophie wondered why her sister had gotten up so early, but quickly abandoned the pursuit. Such early rising was probably due to her sister's insanity. It went right along with her sister's spasmodic urges to dust at 10 o' clock at night.

With thirty minutes until first period, which started at 7:30 sharp, Sophie and Amy abandoned their dorm to brave the outdoors, and began the walk up the gravel path to the school.

Across the path, the entire Van Gogh dorm was still in a state of collective semi-unconsciousness.

That is, apart from David, who always got up early anyway. The rest of the boys slumbered on peacefully, while the precious time before class slipped away. Then, at exactly 7:20, woken by some sort of inner alarm clock hidden away in their subconscious, the boys of the Van Gogh dorm realized what time it was, and chaos erupted.

"Shit, what happened to the alarm?"

"Where the hell is my backpack?"

"Did anyone actually _do_ their math homework?"

"Ian! Get the hell out of the shower!"

"Can I copy your homework?"

"Has anyone seen my tap shoes?"

"IAN! OUT! NOW!"

"Where the HELL is my backpack?"

"Has anyone seen my toothbrush?"

"Race, get up, you'll be late!"

"God, all of you, SHUT THE HELL UP!"

Anyone walking by might have been disturbed by the screams emanating from the dormitory, but it happened so often that anyone who had been around the campus for any great length of time rarely noticed anymore.

Spot was the first to stumble out onto the porch at 7:26, with four minutes to spare. Jack was next. Blink and Mush were close behind, only trailing Jack by seconds; Mush's tap shoes were harder to find that Jack's backpack. Blink was still scribbling furiously. Ian and Mark were out the door and racing ahead of the rest of the boys before anyone could blink, Ian still toweling his hair. Racetrack was last out, and as soon as he stepped onto the porch, the four remaining boys were off.

As they sprinted up the path towards the school; Race's shirt on backwards and Jack still half out of his shoes, Blink noted that they were making good time.

---------------------

**A/N:**

**R:** Ok, freakishly short chappie, but will add more to this one later!


End file.
